


'Cause the Days Have No Numbers

by CloudAtlas



Series: A Safety In The End [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Celebrations, Coitus Interruptus, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunkenness, Female Friendship, Friendship, Kissing, Korean Kate Bishop, Multi, POV Natasha Romanov, Texting, all the friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-21 04:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: An evening of good news all round.





	'Cause the Days Have No Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after With Your Eyes All Painted Sinatra Blue. Title from [00000 million](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FqojM1TYqo) by Bon Iver. Beta'd by **inkvoices**.
> 
>  **ETA Dec 2018:** This fic has now been Ameripicked by the wonderful **meatball42**. <3
> 
> cw: vomiting happens in this fic, though not much and it's not described in detail.

Natasha looks up from her tattered copy of _Dracula_ at the sound of the door opening, just in time to see James deposit what looks like a bakery bag on the counter. He looks a little worn; soft around the edges, like an old book.

“We weren’t expecting you back today,” she says, when he doesn’t immediately say anything.

“Wasn’t gonna be,” he replies, somewhere between tired and sad. “But then…”

He trails off, rubbing a hand through his hair with the look of someone who’s not sure how they ended up in this situation.

“Where’s Clint?” he asks, instead of continuing. He strips off his sweater and toes off his boots before coming over to drape himself artlessly across Natasha like the world’s most irreverent cat.

“Grocery shopping,” Natasha replies and James says, “Oh,” with a little smile pressed into the material of her tank top, the corner of his eyes crinkling like they’re both in on a joke.

And in a way, they are. Clint shops like no one Natasha has ever met. Sometimes, he can be down to the last of the bread and eggs and simply eat around them, making ever more inventive food combinations in an effort to avoid buying more. Other times, he has to go _now_ because he’s out of sundried tomatoes and, “ _No,_ the recipe _won’t take substitutes,_ Natasha.” And, as if that’s not irritating enough, sometimes he’ll just decide now is as good a time as any and just take off, coming back with bok choi, pork scratchings, and a new cheese he can’t pronounce the name of. He’s gone shopping at 7am on Sunday mornings, half an hour before his shift starts, and once, very memorably, after having sex at three in the morning on a Saturday because, “I can’t make you pancakes without maple syrup, c’mon.”

She’s fairly sure he’s followed one night stands down to the 24hr bodega on the corner because he’d suddenly remembered he’d run out of granola or something ridiculous.

“How’d it go?” she asks, after a long silence James seems determined not to fill. She strokes her fingers through the fine hair at his temple.

James shrugs awkwardly.

“Okay?” He mumbles after deliberating, sounding less than sure. Then, more firmly, “Yeah, okay. Just not...”

He trails off. Natasha’s raised eyebrow accompanies a coaxing silence.

“Can we just…?” He waves his hand vaguely, his breath hot on her collarbone. “I don’t – I’d rather not explain it twice or…”

He trails off again and Natasha looks at him, _really_ looks.

She can’t see his face from this angle, not really, but his shoulders are tense and there’s something restless about him, though he’s completely still. He gives the impression that something is buzzing under his skin, jittery. Or, perhaps more likely, that his mind is spinning faster than he can keep up with. What could have happened with Steve and Peggy? She’d only really imagined two outcomes: the happiness of a weight lifted, or it not going well at all and her and Clint having to pick up the pieces – or Wanda, to be honest. That was the original plan and Natasha hadn’t begrudged James the support of his friend.

James has said it went fine though, and he’s here, but he’s acting as though something unexpected happened and he’s not sure how to process it.

“So it went okay,” she says, instead of pushing for more details.

“Yeah, yeah. It went okay.” He shifts a little. “I just… need to reorganise my head or something. Still. I’ll be okay in a while.”

He pauses again and, with her book now discarded on the floor, Natasha begins idly running her hand through his hair for a lack of anything else to do. James practically _purrs_. Christ, the man’s basically a lazy tabby.

“When did Clint leave?” he asks muzzily.

“About ten minutes ago,” Natasha says, picking up her phone and beginning to scroll through Twitter. “He’ll probably get distracted by in-season tomatoes and be another hour.”

James snorts, but doesn’t disagree. Clint grocery shopping is completely unpredictable and everyone very quickly learns not to try.

Natasha's phone vibrates with a WhatsApp message from Sharon.

 **Sharon [19:22]**  
Creepy John just asked me for drinks again. You guys better bail me out when I’m inevitably arrested for murder.

Natasha snorts, and she’s halfway through typing a reply one-handed when a thought occurs to her.

“Hey James,” she says, digging her nails into his scalp just hard enough to demand attention, “can I ask you something?”

“You already have,” James mumbles, “but sure.”

She looks down at the strange dips and curves that make up James’ face from this angle.

“Can I tell my friends that we’re dating?”

She feels his hand tighten on her hip ever so slightly, and she sees a small frown add new contours to his face.

She and Clint have been very careful about this, about letting James make the first move. Some things can’t be helped, like the fact that half of Clint’s friends work at Slings & Arrows and therefore knew about James before they made anything official. But outside of that, they’ve trodden carefully.

Despite both Natasha and Clint messaging Sam almost daily, they haven’t told him about James. Clint hasn’t told his mom (probably – they’re close and she lives in Iowa, so he might have, but Natasha thinks his natural respect for boundaries would probably overrule those facts) and Natasha hasn’t told her Aunt Vassa, not that she’d have the first clue how to broach the topic. James’ sister finding out was largely an accident; they’d wanted to embarrass James, sure, but they didn’t go in with the idea to out him to any of his family. Both she and Clint had been incredibly apologetic when they’d found out, even if it’d turned out that it hadn’t been _them_ so much as it’d been James’ utter inability to lie to his baby sister.

But most importantly, Natasha hasn’t told any of _her_ friends, much as she’s wanted to. There’s been a far too important reason not to.

“You haven’t told them yet?” James asks, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting the mark.

“I have a close knit group of friends,” Natasha says gently. “One of whom is Maria Hill,” – James fingers flex – “and another of whom is Pepper Potts.”

“Oh,” James says softly. He probably hasn’t ever thought about the possibility of both the Deputy Director of Shield Security and the new PA to the CEO of Stark Industries being privy to details of his private life.

She strokes her fingers through his hair again.

“You can say no,” she says gently, though she hopes he doesn’t say no for long. Natasha doesn’t like keeping things from her friends, not after she’s managed to find ones so disinclined to pass judgement.

James remains silent for a while, his breathing soft. She can see his eyelids move, the soft brush of his eyelids against his cheeks as he blinks. She imagines his gaze darting every which way as he processes this new information.

“Is it weird I didn’t know you were friends with them?” James finally asks.

Natasha shifts slightly, settling them both into a more comfortable position.

“Yes and no, I guess.” She shrugs. “Maria and Pepper are _my_ friends, rather than mine and Clint’s. I guess that means I talk about them less.” She resumes stroking her hand through his hair, petting him like the cat she knows he is. “I wasn’t… trying to hide them from you or anything.”

James snorts and turns against her chest to give her an amused look. “I didn’t think you had been until you said,” he says with a smirk. “But thanks for clearing that up.”

Natasha smacks him on the shoulder.

“Ass.”

James resettles himself.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” he says after a moment. “I guess – well, they’re going to find out sometime, right?”

“Doesn’t have to be today,” Natasha points out.

“Today is apparently a day for revelations,” James says with a rueful laugh. “Might as well.”

Natasha grins and kisses him on the forehead.

“Thanks, James.”

She swipes to unlock her phone.

While the two of them have been talking, Sharon’s message has received the predictable replies from both Maria (“Well if you insist on leaving Shield for the cesspit that is the MTA”) and Yelena (“Next time kick him in the balls”) before wandering off into some diversion about the proper way to make a mai tai. Something, it seems, that Pepper has Opinions about.

Natasha grins to herself. Let’s shake this up.

“Hey,” she nudges James. “Look sexy.”

She opens her camera and switches to selfie mode, taking the photo at just the right time to get James at his most Grumpy Cat. Photo-Natasha looks smug, her hand in James’ hair, and he looks halfway between confused and irritated while being mostly smothered in her breasts. She practically cackles when she sees it. It’s glorious.

 **Natasha [19:47]**  
[image attached]  
Guess who’s got a new boyfriend

She then sends the photo to Clint, just because.

“The fuck are you sending people,” James mutters into her shirt. “Also, I’m always sexy.”

“That you are,” she replies with a laugh, showing him the photo and the sudden explosion of replies that make her phone vibrate like crazy. James rolls his eyes, but he looks a little apprehensive. Natasha drops another kiss on his forehead.

“Hey,” she says gently. “I trust them. You’re okay.”

James presses his nose into her collarbone but doesn’t say anything.

 **Maria [19:47]**  
You’re kidding me

 **Yelena [19:47]**  
Fuck  
Where’d you find him and can you take me there

 **Sharon [19:47]**  
So help me god if you’ve split up with Clint after all this trouble I will murder you with my own two hands Romanov don’t think I won’t.

Natasha has to reply to that one.

 **Natasha [19:48]**  
Hey no I haven't broken up with Clint. Keep your murdering plans to yourself.

Natasha would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the flurry of messages that comment produces. She makes a pleased sound and gives James a quick squeeze.

“You blowing their minds?” James inquires, as if this is an entirely normal occurrence and not something he’s low-key anxious about.

Natasha gives him another squeeze.

“With _jealousy_ ,” she says with relish as comments scroll past with variations of ‘you’re fucking KIDDING ME’ and ‘only you Natasha’ and ‘urgh he looks so cute I wanna ride him til he passes out’. That last one is from Yelena. Natasha completely understands the sentiment.

The laugh that escapes James is somewhere between incredulous and shaky. He tips his face up so he can look her in the eye. “I can’t believe you just drop this on your friends _over_ _WhatsApp_. I had fucking pep talks with myself for a week.”

“Hey,” Natasha says, tucking her phone underneath her thigh so she can wrap her arms more securely around him. “None of that.” She gives him another comforting squeeze. “People are different. I’ve known Yelena and Sharon since college and Maria’s been my boss since forever. They _know_ me as this person.”

“A person who has threesomes?” James asks incredulously.

Natasha shrugs. “Yeah, sort of. Or at least a person who could.”

James holds her gaze, as if he’s searching for any sign that she’s lying. Eventually he nods.

“And Pepper?”

“Huh?”

“Does Pepper know you as this person?”

Natasha's caught up short by the question because… _does_ Pepper know her as this person? Before Pepper became Tony Stark’s PA she was Natasha's liaison within Stark Industries for a big partnership that both Stark and Shield Security Director Nick Fury had been practically salivating over. They’d spent hours together hammering out details and acting as the sharp edges to their respective companies’ corporate swords. Natasha loved Pepper’s cutthroat professionalism, her ability to make jokes after eighteen hour days, and the way she rocked Louboutin heels. It hadn’t taken long until they were friends. But, while Natasha had explained her (then) relationship with Clint, she’s not sure she ever made it clear that she was the kind of woman with the capability of being _this_.

But then, Pepper Potts is the kind of woman to be chosen to be Tony Stark’s PA. Pepper Potts is the kind of woman to _successfully remain_ Tony Stark’s PA.

“Pepper Potts,” Natasha says, her words a slow revelation, “cares far more about you as a person than about something as trivial as who you choose to sleep with.”

James settles more heavily across Natasha's front before nudging her hand with his head in an effort to get her running her fingers through his hair again. Lazy, _lazy_ tabby.

“Yeah,” he says. “She gives me that impression as well.”

Natasha smiles down at him, though he’s turned away from her face now, and gently scrapes her fingernails across his scalp. James makes a content sound and tightens his grip around her waist.

Kitten, she thinks. She might start calling him kitten. He’d probably hate it and the idea makes her smile.

It’s only then that she notices her phone is suspiciously silent. She pulls it out from beneath the couch cushions.

 **Pepper [19:52]**  
Is that R&D James?  
As in hot-like-burning R&D James?  
Emmanuel from Legal’s imaginary boyfriend R&D James?  
Unofficial Stark Industries date challenge R&D James?  
THAT R&D James?

And then, sent two minutes afterwards;

 **Yelena [19:54]**  
Shit girl don’t leave us hanging

Natasha fights – really fights – not to laugh, but she can’t stop the involuntary shudders that tremble through her chest and James grumbles.

“You are the worst pillow ever.”

“You could always move,” she points out, still trying to tamp down the giddy urge to laugh. The only thing that could make this better is if Clint were to come back right now to witness what’s about to happen.

James grips her tighter and, in reward, she runs her palm down his side.

“So hey.” Natasha aims for complete nonchalance, but even she can hear the laughter tucked between her teeth. “Did you know that you’re apparently the unofficial Stark Industries date challenge?”

James stills, sucking in such a deep breath through his nose that the rushing cool air makes her nipple tighten, and says, “What.”

She holds out her phone to him and, cautiously, he reaches out to take it from her, his eyes running over the text.

James, Natasha has decided, turns almost as perfect a shade of red as Clint does. But, more importantly, he does it _more often_.

“Oh my god.” James sounds stuck somewhere between absolutely mortified and utterly delighted, because James is an intensely private natural flirt.

Natasha loses her ability to suppress her laughter and it rings through Clint’s apartment, clear as a bell.

“I wonder if I’ll get a prize,” she says with a delighted grin. “D’you think Emmanuel from Legal would give me a prize?”

“Emmanuel from Legal would give you a fucking bitch slap,” James says with a laugh. “Have you met the man? He practically screams bratty power bottom.”

“Ooh and at work I bet you’re all military decisiveness and cool smirks.” She tugs on his hair and his eyes slip shut. “Enough to fool anyone.”

“Hmm, something like that,” he replies.

It’s not quite true, really. James definitely likes being told what to do, but that’s not all he likes. He never wants to be in charge how Natasha chooses to be, or even Clint, but if James does decide to be more forceful, he just changes the set of his shoulders and the tone of his voice, and people find themselves more than willing to just… do as he says. Natasha can absolutely see how people would be willing to follow him through gunfire.

James just doesn’t choose that option often, not around her or Clint, perhaps _because_ he’s all military decisiveness and cool smirks at work.

“So,” he says, shifting so he’s braced slightly above her and able to properly look her in the eye, “how are you going to reply? _Am_ I hot-like-burning R&D James?”

He smirks at her, slow and dangerous, and she feels it low in her gut.

“Oh,” she says, her voice low, “I rather think you are.”

And she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down until she can slot their mouths together.

It’s lucky, Natasha muses as she once again sinks her hands into James’ hair, that she’s managed to end up with two guys with such oral fixations. Clint kisses as if it’s an end in itself; as if he’s perfectly happy to kiss and only kiss, sinking into the sensations until all involved lose all sense of time and reason. Natasha knows this; she’s done it. Kissing so long her lips are tender and swollen. It feels like being worshipped.

James kisses like he’s losing _himself_. It’s just as intoxicating.

She shifts until James is lying between her thighs, until she can hook her ankles behind his knees and press flush against him. He whines at the sensation, and again when her fingers tighten in his hair, tilting his head so she can kiss down his chin and across his jaw.

Biting his earlobe gets her a breathy ‘fuck’ and James’ hand sliding up and under her tank top to grip the bare skin of her waist.

“If only Emmanuel from Legal could see you now,” she breathes into his neck.

“Fuck off,” comes the reply. James’ voice sounds hard, but she can feel his smile against her neck.

“Hmm.” She flicks her tongue against his earlobe again. “I don’t think I will thanks.”

James huffs out a laugh at that, which quickly turns into a cut-off moan as Natasha pulls – _hard_ – on his hair, forcing him up and away until he gets the message and kneels up between her legs on the couch.

He looks, to put it mildly, fucking spectacular.

His hair is a disaster zone, sticking up in seventeen different directions at once. His mouth is red, wet, and slightly bruised. His eyes are almost black. No one looking at him now could mistake him for anything other than _freshly ravaged_.

“Stay right there,” Natasha says, fumbling for her phone and taking a photo before James loses too much of his lust-drunk expression.

Clint needs to see this.

“Huh?” James’ reply is vague and too slow, the fingers of his left hand coming up to touch his bottom lip almost unconsciously.

Natasha takes another photo.

“I’m sending them to Clint,” she says by way of explanation and something in James’ gaze sharpens, his eyes locking onto hers.

“I wish Clint were here,” he says after a brief moment of silence, his voice low.

Natasha's smile all but explodes over her face, making her tender lips ache. How she and Clint found someone so _perfect_ for them is a mystery but, shit, she’s so glad they did.

“Me too,” she says honestly, “but he’ll turn up soon enough.”

“With three new types of vegetable we’ve never heard of along with Nicaraguan liquor and – ”

“Kids novelty sunglasses?”

James laughs.

“Yeah, probably.”

Natasha's phone chimes in her hand.

 **Yelena [20:03]**  
SERIOUSLY

It’s the last of about twenty messages in the same vein sent since Pepper’s original inquiry.

“They’re getting impatient,” she remarks as she reads through them all.

“Well, let’s give ‘em what they want.”

Natasha looks up at James, smirking from between her thighs.

“Hey,” she says, inspiration suddenly striking, “are there any other Jameses in R&D?”

He thinks about it for a moment and then, in a tone of surprise, says, “You know, I don’t think there are.”

Natasha grins.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do.”

She wriggles until her ass is pressed hard against his crotch, her knees tights and high around his waist, before running her hands back through his hair to make it look extra sex-mussed.

“Now do this.” She makes an over-dramatic thoughtful face, fingers on her chin. “Left hand.”

James copies her, eyes full of mischief.

“Good.”

She then tucks one hand into the waistband of his jeans, her fingers pressed up against James’ lower stomach to reveal a strip of skin.

 **Natasha [20:07]**  
[image attached]  
*is* there any other James in R&D?

The resulting flurry of messages does not disappoint.

 **Sharon [20:07]**  
Jesus fucking Christ

 **Pepper [20:07]**  
I advise you never to tell Emmanuel from Legal or you’re liable to wake up dead.

 **Yelena [20:07]**  
Fuckkkkkkkkkk

 **Pepper [20:07]**  
That being said, I find it supremely unfair that you’ve landed TWO extremely hot guys.  
SUPREMELY unfair.

 **Sharon [20:08]**  
Now I’m imagining this guy and Clint together fuckkkkkkkk

 **Maria [20:08]**  
You are a god among queers, Romanov. I salute you.

 **Pepper [20:08]**  
I swear I haven’t had sex in SO LONG

 **Yelena [20:08]**  
Natasha I will pay you real money for a sex tape  
All three of you btw

 **Natasha [20:09]**  
Haha

 **Yelena [20:09]**  
I AM NOT KIDDING  
REAL MONEY NATASHA  
Also Pepper come to Cincinnati I will 100% have sex with you

 **Maria [20:10]**  
Jesus Christ how did I end up friends with you idiots.

James lowers himself until he’s once again lying against her shoulder, his fingers sneaking back under her tank top to trace abstract patterns against her skin. If she didn’t know better, she’d guess this is just Cat James surfacing once more, but she’s fairly sure he’s just trying to sneak a look at her phone screen.

“I’ve been offered ‘real money’ for a sex tape,” Natasha says conversationally, tilting her phone to save him the trouble.

“As opposed to fake money?”

“I guess so.”

She feels James shrug. “I guess I can always go for more real money.”

Natasha snorts. She can’t imagine a world where James would consent to being filmed while having sex. To be honest, she doesn’t really feel comfortable with the idea either, regardless of Yelena’s constant assertions that you get used to it. Clint though… actually, no. Clint would just think it’s pointless. She can practically hear him in her head: “Why watch yourself having sex when you could be… having sex?” It’s a pretty sound argument.

 **Natasha [20:10]**  
You love us Maria. Don’t lie.

“Are you planning to sleep there?” Natasha says to the top of James’ head. He hasn’t moved in a while.

James hums a little, which is basically a yes despite also being a complete non-answer.

“So I’m stuck here?”

“Uh-huh,” James replies, curling his hands tighter around her waist and burying his nose into her collarbone.

 **Yelena [20:11]**  
Okay Andrew is back with food so now I’m gonna go freak out at him over the epic sex tape you’re withholding from me.  
ttyl!

 **Maria [20:11]**  
Perv.

 **Yelena [20:11]**  
You know it! :D

And, one by one, everyone disappears again; Yelena to Andrew and food, Pepper to a ‘Tony emergency’ (which Natasha secretly thinks is probably also food, just of the Upscale Fancy Restaurant variety), and Sharon to her weekend gym session (Natasha can set her watch by Sharon’s gym sessions), until it’s just Maria and Natasha left.

 **Maria [20:19]**  
They’re treating you right though, yeah?

As if he knows what Maria is asking, James gives Natasha's waist a squeeze.

 **Natasha [20:19]**  
Yeah Maria.  
I’m really fucking happy.

 **Maria [20:20]**  
Good.

 

Natasha's picked up _Dracula_ again by the time Clint comes back, propping the book up on James’ elbow because frankly, if he didn’t want to be a book prop, he shouldn’t have used her as a substitute mattress-slash-blanket.

“Beer was on offer so I bought some fancy-ass IPA. And also something called a dragon fruit because if I passed up the chance to breathe fire just because the thing looks like a weird sex toy I’d never forgive myself.”

He’s not even paying attention as he shoulders his way through the door, so it takes him a moment to realise that Natasha is not, in fact, the only one here.

He looks up.

“Oh hey!” he says when he sees the two of them sprawled on the couch. “You got something better. I’ll take James over fancy beer and fire breathing any day.”

“I can feel the love,” James says, partially into Natasha's tank top, as Clint abandons his bags on the kitchen counter and makes his way over to them.

“So you should,” Clint says loftily. “I’m a loving guy.”

He drops down gracelessly onto the coffee table after giving both of them a hello kiss.

“You guys having fun?”

Natasha closes _Dracula_ , placing it under the coffee table before giving Clint a mischievous look.

“Did you know,” she says, ignoring his question because this is _so much better_ , “that we won the Stark Industries unofficial date challenge?”

“Fucking hell,” James mutters.

Natasha watches Clint’s face. He frowns at her, his gaze then sliding across to where James is tucked against her shoulder. Joy steals across his expression like ink in water and he lets out a delighted laugh.

“Oh my God, really?” His grin is infectious; Natasha can’t help smiling in return. “What do we win?”

“A bitch slap from Emmanuel in Legal, apparently.”

Clint lets out another bark of delighted laughter and slides off the coffee table to kneel by the couch, leaning down to fist his hand in James’ hair and drag him up for a kiss.

“You got folks tripping over themselves for you, don’t you?” he says, grinning. “Of course you fucking do. Look how smug you are.” James is grinning, his eyes practically fucking sparkling and holy shit does he look smug. “You know you’re a hotass, with your matching socks and your fucking mouth.”

Clint kisses James again, and Natasha will never get over how much she loves having them kiss two inches from her face. She can see their tongues sliding past each other, can see James’ eyebrows bunch in pleasure. She tugs Clint away, just so she can see his slick mouth and hear the little displeased sound James makes.

Clint smirks at her, tugs against her hold, finds her nipple with his mouth and sucks, hard, through the fabric of her shirt.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Clint.”

James laughs.

“So hey,” Clint turns to James suddenly as if he hadn’t just been molesting her breast, “how did your thing go? I thought you were going to Wanda’s after?”

Natasha watches as James’ smile dims, but he doesn’t look _unhappy_ so she figures it really must be okay.

“Yeah, okay I guess. Was… weird.” He shrugs, and now he’s back to looking like some of his internal boxes have been overturned.

“How about,” Clint says, getting up, “we go up on the roof with some fancy-ass IPAs and you tell us about it.”

Natasha has been so engrossed in her book – and then in James – that she’s completely failed to notice how the day has progressed into glorious sunshine; the orange kind that only ever occurs on lazy summer evenings. Clint’s whole apartment is awash with it.

In fact, now she thinks about it, she’s fairly sure the weather forecast said something about blocking anticyclones or something. Apparently they’re in for a hot few days.

Great. Just what she needs. Sunburn.

James nods. “Yeah, okay. But lemme get outta these jeans first.”

“I’ll bring the beer,” Clint replies, hauling James off the couch with only minimal jostling of Natasha. “We can go out the window.”

“I am not,” Natasha says as she gets to her feet, “going out your fucking window again.”

Clint’s mezzanine bedroom is built in such a way that you can boost yourself off one of the dressers through the skylight and onto the roof. Only the skylight opens _like a skylight_ and, sure, it opens pretty wide, but Natasha has way too much dignity to go hauling herself through a window onto a roof on her belly.

“Oh great!” Clint says as James heads for the bedroom – probably to steal Clint’s Dubs shorts again, because James gets immense pleasure from the way Clint’s eyes darken when he sees James in his clothes. “Then _you_ can bring the beer.”

And he grins, and kisses her, and ducks before she can hit him upside the head, darting up the stairs while laughing.

Natasha sighs, but can’t hide her smile. Why couldn’t she be dating adults?

And, because she apparently _is_ the only adult in this relationship, Natasha puts away the groceries before she heads to the roof. Clint _has_ bought dragon fruit. Clint’s also bought more eggplant than any one person needs (Natasha hates eggplant) and some weird looking candy she isn’t going anywhere near (Natasha deeply mistrusts American candy). So, same old, same old. She contemplates hiding the candy behind her many boxes of tea, but decides against it. She’ll just have to deal with Clint on a sugar high at some point.

By the time she makes it to the roof, Clint and James have assembled the best of the mismatched lawn chairs stored in the roof’s shed so they can look out towards Manhattan. The chairs are mostly for use in the monthly summer cook-outs Simone organises for the building, but anyone can use them, though some really should get chucked out before they pitch old Mrs DiLeo onto the concrete. Clint’s lounging in what looks like a proper birdwatcher’s fold-out while James has claimed the plastic sun lounger (obviously) that Clint saved from the sidewalk two years ago. They’ve left the stripy red deck chair for her, because Clint knows that she’d fight anyone (old Mrs DiLeo excluded) for that chair.

“Beer’s arrived,” she says as soon as she’s close enough.

James is wearing Clint’s purple-shades-that-used-to-be-Kate’s and has kicked off his borrowed flip flops (are any of the clothes he’s wearing his own?) while Clint’s shoes and socks are strewn haphazardly at his feet. They both turn to her with hands outstretched and identical shit-eating grins on their faces, and they look so stereotypically Frat Boy that she can’t stop herself from laughing.

“You two are ridiculous,” she says as she hands out the beer. They’re a little warm, but she’ll blame Clint for that. He should have come back quicker.

“Ridiculously handsome,” James quips.

Clint gives him a high five while Natasha rolls her eyes.

“And modest too.”

Clint grins at her over James.

“Mama didn’t raise no liars,” he says with a grin. Then: “Here.” Clint smacks James on the shoulder with his bottle opener keyring and, as soon as James has got into his beer, he asks, “So how _did_ your thing go with your buddy Steve?”

James groans.

“Well, I ain’t telling you that story while lying on a sun lounger. Feels like TV therapy.”

“Not real therapy?” Natasha asks with a smile.

“You ever been to real therapy?” James replies. “There’s no chaise-lounges in sight. It’s all very disappointing.”

He sits up, fidgets, stands to readjusts the back of the lounger, and sits back down again.

“Basically,” he says, holding up four fingers and counting them off, “I told them I’m bi. I told them I’m dating two people. I told them I’m in an open relationship. And then I told Steve I love him.”

There’s a long silence.

“Okay.” Clint leans forward in his chair. “Pro tip: never become an author. You’re shit at storytelling.”

Natasha snorts. James flicks his bottle cap at Clint.

“No seriously,” Clint says, not even flinching as the bottle cap bounces off his shoulder. “I want the emotions. You gotta make me _feel it_. You can be the next E L James. I believe in you.”

Natasha hides her smile behind her beer. She absolutely loves how low-key manipulative Clint can be, partially because he’s never malicious about it.

James groans again. He’s so _dramatic_ , poor baby.

“God, you’re the fucking worst.” He takes what Natasha assumes to be a fortifying swig of beer and rubs his hands over his face, pushing his borrowed sunglasses onto the top of his head. “And for your information, I can guarantee you that I’d at least write a better story than _Fifty Shades of Grey_.” He takes a moment and then starts speaking. “The bi thing was fine because one, they both knew already anyway because they’re not morons, and two, I’d started the conversation with ‘we need to talk’ so obviously Steve thought I was dying or something. So being bi was a huge relief in light of that. Then I,” he points at himself, “a certified idiot, said I was dating ‘someones’ – ”

“Classic,” Clint interrupts with a laugh.

“ – which mainly led to a gentle interrogation from Peggy and then… like, I dunno. Supportive confusion? Is that a thing?”

Natasha figures the question is rhetorical because he doesn’t wait for an answer. She gets the feeling that he’s hit his stride now and will just ramble on until the words run out, so she takes another pull on her beer in lieu of trying to say anything. Clint just nods.

Not, she notes, that James would see him doing so. He’s looking down at his hands, methodically shredding the label of his bottle until it covers his lap like confetti.

“And then – I dunno how it came up, but we got onto where you live?”

He gestures vaguely with his beer, meeting each of their gazes in turn, so Natasha takes this to mean the collective ‘you’.

“So then I explained about the whole… open relationship thing. Badly, probably. And…” He looks at Natasha suddenly. “You know, Becks got all weird about that? Saying it was lopsided and – and stuff.”

His expression catches somewhere between offended and worried, like he’s suddenly doubting his certainty.

“And is that what it feels like to you?” she asks gently, when it seems James isn’t going to continue.

“No!” It’s too quick. James takes a breath. “No. I – no, I don’t. It’s not that. It’s more like…”

Over James’ head, Natasha meets Clint’s eyes. She can see in his gaze exactly what she’s feeling; it’s important James works this out – that he _knows_ , or at least that he’s willing to talk about this, because if it’s anything other than what he says it could become a festering wound in the middle of their relationship. If they’re not honest this whole thing comes tumbling down.

Natasha doesn’t want this to come tumbling down.

“I just… it feels like she doesn’t…” James sighs and runs his hand over his face. He leans back against the sun lounger, pulling a knee up so he can lean his arm across it. “When I came back from Iraq, I was… not erratic exactly but – ” His mouth works and he frowns. He changes tack. “Coming back from something like that means that for a while you’re not sure how to… deal with things. Normal things are difficult because you’ve spent however long in a really fucking high stress environment where normal things didn’t figure. Like, I didn’t have to go grocery shopping, didn’t have to deal with paying rent. Loud, unexpected noises were more likely something bad than, say, Steve’s Harley backfiring on the corner.”

Natasha sees Clint perk up at the implication that Steve owns a Harley Davidson, but he’s not an asshole and knows when to keep his mouth shut.

James takes a breath.

“It is amazing,” he says, “how little time it takes for you to forget basic social things when you’re in a fucking warzone.”

Somehow that statement, more than anything James has mentioned of his Army career prior to this point, is what really brings home the idea that James spent over four years living in and out of warzones. Natasha feels like James wears it so lightly, that period of his life, that it’s easy to forget that it was horrifying; that James has killed people and James has seen friends die. No high stress work situation Natasha will ever be in will come even close. She has nothing to compare it to. Nothing at all.

“So,” James continues suddenly, pulling her back from the edge of a pit she’d never thought she’d ever come close to falling into, “Becks and Steve and mom and _everyone_ , they… helped, y’know? Mom helps me with all the tax shit the first year I’m back, Steve gets me writing shopping lists so I don’t wander into Walmart just to stand there not having any idea what I actually need. And it’s… cloying – fucking _smothering_ – but yeah. I get it. I needed that. And then it got easier and I didn’t need Steve to get me to write shopping lists, and I can pay my own rent, and do my own taxes, and,” he waves his hand vaguely, “so it felt like… backsliding. Like she doesn’t…”

James trails off again, but Natasha can guess how that ends.

“Trust you?”

James nods.

“And I get it. I totally do. This is weird.” He waves his hands about again. “To them, I mean. To most people. It was weird _to me,_ but I just.” He frowns. “I’m not an idiot.”

Natasha's really not sure what to say to that.

“Well of course you’re not an idiot,” Clint says in an arch tone. “Natasha and I are purveyors of excellent orgasms and have all our own teeth. We’re fine marriageable material.”

Natasha almost chokes on her mouthful of beer and through watering eyes she watches incredulity crawl over James’ expression as he turns, with almost horror-movie slowness, until he’s facing Clint.

“What,” he says slowly, “the _fuck_.”

Natasha echoes that fucking sentiment.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Clint replies, entirely straight-faced.

A choked laugh fights its way out of James’ throat as he turns wide eyes to Natasha and she can’t help it, she cracks up laughing. That’s just such a ridiculously _Clint_ thing to say, to _do_. Oh you’re having an emotional moment? Permit me to interrupt with something _utterly fucking ridiculous._ She fumbles her beer as she tries to put it down without spilling it. She’s laughing so hard her sides are aching. Clint’s grinning like he’s just won the lottery.

“The fuck are you _saying_?” James manages through laughter as she fights to get her breathing under control. “That you’re _horses_?”

“You’re planning on marrying a horse?” Natasha says through giggles just as Clint holds up his hands and says, “Hey, your kink is not my kink.”

That just starts her off again.

“Oh my _fucking God_ ,” James yells, kicking the leg of Clint’s chair and almost pitching him onto the concrete, “what _the fuck_ , Barton?”

Clint doesn’t say anything to that. He just keeps grinning, his eyes soft and fond as both she and James struggle for breath, occasionally catching each other’s eyes and setting themselves off again.

Natasha recovers first, leaning back in her deck chair while holding her stomach. Her sides hurt and her cheeks ache from laughing too hard. Beside her, James is still giggling occasionally to himself and when she glances over, she can see all the tension he was carrying earlier has sloughed off him.

She looks over him to Clint and in a flash Natasha realises that _that was entirely deliberate_. That Clint did the one thing he knew would make James relax and stop worrying.

Clint is never more attractive than when he’s being clever.

 _You conniving little shit_ , she signs at him.

Clint blows her a kiss in response.

James leans back in the sun lounger and stares up at the sky, one knee pulled up and a small smile around his mouth. His borrowed sunglasses have fallen back down and the uniformly shiny, reflective purple disks hide his eyes. Natasha laments their loss. She likes his eyes.

On the other hand, James’ James Dean vibes are magnified by a thousand percent just by adding Aviators and she cannot fault that look.

Natasha turns, tucking her knees into her deck chair, her almost-finished beer dangling from two fingers.

“So then what happened?” she asks softly. Better to get the whole thing out now than draw it out unnecessarily.

James looks down at his beer at her question, his smile dimming somewhat.

“I accidentally told Steve I loved him.” He turns to face her and all she can see is her own face reflected in the purple lenses of his sunglasses. “And then I panicked.”

There’s a long silence where Natasha can’t judge James’ expression well enough with the sunglasses to really know what to say. Behind James, she can see Clint’s expression doing something complicated, like he’s having a little trouble working out just how bad that statement actually is. Or that he’s trying to think of a reasonable response that doesn’t betray just how context-less he finds that statement.

Or maybe he feels just as adrift as her here, by the simple fact that all Clint can see of James right now is the back of his head. Natasha tries not to ascribe feelings to Clint when conversations run into talk of love because she knows that people can understand things perfectly well without having experienced them personally. She’s not always successful though, perhaps because the concept of love is still related to the idea of sex in her head, at least somewhat. Matt probably has something to do with that, despite that entire relationship crashing and burning spectacularly.

Natasha’s coming to the realisation that her brain, without informing her, may have subconsciously sorted Clint into the ‘relationship’ box in her head within a month of first sleeping with him. It would explain a lot of what’s happened in the past four years.

“You think you’ll be okay?” Clint asks eventually, his tone judged perfectly to include every other question lurking around that statement; are you okay? Did Steve take it okay? Did Peggy take it okay? Do you think your friendship will weather this?

Have you just lost your best friend?

Natasha watches as James looks at his hands, stretching out his fingers and then tightening them into fists, before turning to look at Clint.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah I think we’ll be okay.”

Clint smiles at him and she can’t quite see but she thinks James smiles back. Clint reaches over and palms James’ face gently, and James leans unsubtly into the contact.

“Hey,” Clint says quietly. “Hey, I got an idea. Wait there.”

He pats James’ face twice and then ups and leaves. Natasha doesn’t even have to look to know that James follows Clint’s progress just as she does, the two of them turning in unison like confused sunflowers as he walks out of sight.

“What…?” James’ voice is beautiful, soft confusion. Natasha turns to face him only to be once again confronted by her own twin purple reflections.

“I don’t know, kitten,” she says with a small smile that indicates that Clint is a law unto himself and she stopped trying to figure him out ages ago, “but take off those damn shades. I like seeing your eyes.”

He does as she says, revealing a delightful expression caught somewhere between confused and affronted.

“Did you just call me _kitten_?”

“Hey James, get up,” Clint interrupts before Natasha can do anything more than smirk at James. He’s apparently raided the roof’s shed again, this time digging out the – probably slightly musty – cushion that goes with James’ lounger.

“Are you telling me that all this time I’ve been lying on this uncomfortable plastic lounger there was actually a _cushion_ for it?” James’ incredulity shifts from Natasha to Clint, only to get the exact same smirk for his troubles.

“Aww, poor baby,” Clint says patronisingly as he ushers James off the lounger, throwing the cushion down and collapsing the back so the lounger lies flat before sitting down in James’ place. “Get your ass over here and cuddle with me.”

“What?”

It is, Natasha has to admit, a rather surprising statement. The lounger hardly looks big enough for two grown men and the fact that it was salvaged from the sidewalk _two years ago_ doesn’t give her much confidence in its ability to take their weight either.

But Clint reaches up and pulls at James until he capitulates, sitting gingerly by Clint’s hip. This just causes Clint to huff and pull at James further, shifting and repositioning limbs until they’re spooned tightly enough so as not to pitch them onto the concrete. Clint slings an arm low across James’ waist and buries his nose behind James’ ear, looking immensely pleased with himself.

“When did you get so needy?” James demands, making absolutely no move to free himself.

Clint kisses his neck. “I’m always needy.”

James huffs, but Natasha can see how pleased his is with the arrangement; there’s a faint blush in his cheeks and he’s losing his fight with his smile.

“More beer?” Natasha asks, leaning down to grab herself a new bottle.

James opens his mouth to answer but Clint beats him to the punch.

“Keep your beer, we’re cuddling.”

James rolls his eyes at that, but in a way that Natasha takes to mean he’s fine with that answer. Though to be fair, it’s not like either of them can drink right now, lying down as they are. So Natasha rescues the bottle opener from where it was discarded by Clint’s chair, opens her beer, and repositions her own chair so she can prop her feet up on the edge of the lounger.

“So are you just going to cuddle and nap and ignore me then?”

“Yup,” Clint says happily, straight into James’ hair.

James rolls his eyes and smiles up at her, looking sweet and comfortable and more at ease now he’s vocalised his meeting with Steve and Peggy. Helplessly, she smiles back.

Despite the fact that it’s coming up to nine at night, it’s still sunny and warm out on the roof, the smell of hot concrete fading and the sky turning from blue to yellow to orange. She leans back in her chair and looks down at James and Clint. Affection wells up in her chest, ballooning so quickly she’s half convinced she’s just going to float away. She tries to tamp down on the giddy smile that’s fighting to break over her face, but isn’t all that successful. So instead she pokes James in the chest with her big toe, delighting at the sound of his laugh and, when her foot returns to its previous position, James brings his left hand up to curl over it, thumb swiping evenly across the top.

She could go and fetch _Dracula_ from where she left it under the coffee table, she thinks, but instead of moving she just leans back in her chair and traces her eyes across the plains of James’ face, the folds of his t-shirt bunched under Clint’s arm, Clint’s square nails and strong hands. And, all the while, James’ thumb moves backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, over the top of her foot.

 

Natasha doesn’t fall asleep, but she’s drifted enough that the involuntary tightening of James’ hand around her foot causes her to jerk slightly. It’s followed by a low, warning, “ _Clint,_ ” and when she looks over at her two boys squeezed onto that one shitty sun lounger she sees Clint’s hand, _just_ shy of disappearing into James’ shorts.

Something lurches in her chest.

“C’mon,” Clint says, low. “Lemme.”

His fingers flex on James’ skin, but his hand doesn’t move.

“We’re outside,” James all but hisses, like he wishes he could want that to be reason enough to say no. But –

“That’s not a no,” Clint points out, stretching just enough that he can slot his mouth _just_ under James’ ear. His teeth close gently on James’ earlobe and James’ breath hitches, his fingers twitching on Natasha's foot again.

“Jesus Christ, Clint.”

Clint drags his teeth down James’ neck this time.

“Tell me no and I’ll stop.”

James just breathes in response, eyes screwed up and eyebrows bunched like everything’s suddenly too difficult to process. He shakes his head, a jerky motion.

“Real words, sweetheart,” Clint murmurs directly into James’ ear, and Natasha is so focused on what’s going on in front of her that she almost misses what is clearly Clint’s name being called from the apartment below.

Natasha freezes in her seat, her gaze fixed unseeingly on Clint’s hand as her ears strain towards the sound again.

“Clint!”

It’s very clearly Kate and this time she’s loud enough for James to notice. He jerks against Clint, his eyes wide in alarm.

“Um, Clint?” Natasha says, as it’s clear that Kate wasn’t quite loud enough for Clint to hear her. “Kate’s calling for you from downstairs.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Clint grumbles, pulling his hand from James’ shorts and attempting to roll onto his back – presumably to further highlight his annoyance – and only narrowly avoiding rolling straight off the lounger and onto the concrete. “Couldn’t she have given us fifteen more minutes?”

Natasha watches as an expression of realisation-slash-horror flicker over James’ face as he clearly realises just what was about to happen, where, and how often people tend to barge in and out of Clint’s apartment. This might be a private roof, but it’s not really a _private roof_.

Which, of course, doesn’t bother Clint one bit.

Clint sighs before shrugging awkwardly and reaching over to cover James’ ears and bellowing, “Katie! Roof!” at such a volume Natasha's sure his hands made absolutely no difference. Both she and James wince.

“Jesus Christ, Clint,” James hisses again, this time with the half-panicked air of someone who’s only no longer aroused because the imminent arrival of semi-strangers is an effective mood-killer.

Clint pats him consolingly – and maybe a little patronisingly – on the arm. James gives him a murder kitten look.

Natasha hears the slamming of doors and, in no time at all, Kate Bishop bursts onto the roof in a whirlwind of smart-casual clothing and obvious alcohol indulgence.

“Clint, I got in!” is the first thing she says, hardly paying attention to Natasha or James.

“What?”

“The New York Philharmonic!” She’s practically bouncing with excitement. “Second cellos!”

“Holy shit, Katie!” Clint bolts off the sun lounger, all annoyance forgotten, pitching James onto the concrete with Natasha's reflexes only enough to save him from a skinned face, but not skinned knees. “Holy shit!”

“What the fuck?” says James quietly, his sudden relocation to the floor clearly confusing the hell out of him.

Natasha laughs and pulls him to his feet as Clint catches Kate up in a hug, the two of them talking over each other too fast to follow, excitement coming off them in waves. With all the anticipation of James seeing Steve and Peggy today, she’d completely forgotten that Kate had auditioned for the New York Philharmonic Orchestra earlier this week. It’s kind of weird that they get back to people on Saturdays but hey, prime celebration time. Kate has previously assured Natasha that musicians are _very_ able partiers, which is neatly illustrated by her current level of intoxication.

Which – where is Kate’s cello? Natasha sincerely hopes it’s not been left behind in a bar somewhere. Natasha might be effectively musically illiterate, but even she knows that concert-grade instruments are expensive. She’s just about to ask – and congratulate Kate, obviously – when America comes into view, Kate’s cello case slung across her back.

“Been relegated to a pack horse?” Natasha asks, smiling in relief.

America rolls her eyes. “I’m not letting her break the ridiculously expensive instrument that got her into the Phil just ‘cause she can’t hold her liquor.”

America sounds pissed, but her expression is ridiculously fond. Kate is so lucky.

“When’d she find out?” Natasha asks, just as Kate says, “I texted you!” all indignant, to which Clint replies, “Shit, where’s my phone?”

Both Natasha and America roll their eyes at that.

“Around four,” America says. “Hi Barnes.”

“Hi.”

James gives her a dorky wave, clearly at a loss as to what to follow that up with. Not that Natasha’s surprised, really. Only two minutes ago, orgasms were on the table. Clint’s BFF and her girlfriend showing up is a bit of a curve-ball. But James is saved from having to say anything else by Clint, who suddenly yells, “Pizza party!” while dragging Kate over, arm around her waist.

“Nooo!” Kate wails overdramatically as Natasha pulls her into a congratulatory hug. “No more pizza! – Hi Tasha – I’m all pizza’d out – Hi James.” She hugs James as well, which he looks a little surprised about, but Kate moves to her own tune; everyone else is just along for the ride. “Thai. I want Thai.”

Clint expression morphs into one of undisguised contempt. “There’s no such thing as being ‘pizza’d out’, Katie.”

“We had pizza for lunch,” America says flatly. “And for dinner last night. I’m done with pizza for at least a week.”

“But the Thai place doesn’t deliver,” Clint whines as he drags Kate towards the stairs.

It’s not an entirely untrue statement. The Thai place does deliver, only Clint’s apartment building is pretty confusing, seeing as during the renovation Clint moved the front door to the apartments around the back so as not to have drunk barcrawlers attempting to break into Old Mrs DeLio’s in pursuit of alcohol. Most take-out places seem to find this far too difficult to deal with. Clint’s only really managed to train the pizza place to actually deliver to his apartment (and probably only because the usual delivery guy has a visible-from-space crush on him) while Danny’s trained the local Chinese. Anything else and it’s easier to just pick it up themselves. No one else in the building uses take-out places enough to care.

“We _can_ go pick it up, chico,” America snarks back. “It’s only, like, one block over.”

Clint scoffs and disappears down the stairs to his apartment, taking Kate with him.

America looks back at James and Natasha. “You want a hand?” She gestures at the scattered shoes and chairs. Clint’s walked off without his Chucks; bare feet on concrete. The man’s a disaster.

“Nah,” Natasha looks over at James, who still looks confused at the turn of events. “Go dump the cello. We’re fine.”

America gives them both an assessing gaze and then nods once before following Clint and Kate down into the apartment.

“Well,” James says quietly after a moment, “that was unexpected.”

“You okay?”

“What just happened?” He gestures around him, like the scattered shoes and chairs adequately encompasses the past half hour or so.

“Literally or…?”

James rolls his eyes.

“We were… we were gonna – and then he just, just _leaves_ when – ” James cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair and looking bewildered.

“Hey,” Natasha says gently. “C’mere.” She sits on James’ now abandoned sun lounger, patting the space next to her to indicate James should sit down.

“I’m not – ” James starts, but she cuts him off by tugging him to sit down.

“Look, Clint’s not…” she trails off almost immediately, wondering how best to explain this thing that took her a while to figure out and longer still before Kate actually explained it to her.

“You’d don’t have to… _explain_ him to me,” James says, bewildered now at her actions rather than Clint’s. “I’m not… It’s just unexpected, is all.”

“I know, but…” Natasha takes his hand in hers, just for something to hold on to. “It took me a little while for me to work this out, and when I did it made everything easier. So I want to save you that time.”

She still doesn’t really know how to explain it though.

Almost everyone who Clint likes is a friend first and everything else second, which, as far as Natasha has managed to work out, means that everyone Clint knows is equal in his eyes, the only delineations being how long he’s known you. Or… mostly. She’s fairly sure she’d take precedence over Luke, even though Clint’s known Luke longer.

But that’s… that’s not even it, because Clint would never… _rank_ people like that. It’s more like, Kate is _as important_ to Clint as James is. As Natasha is. James and Natasha are _as important_ to Clint as Kate and America. And that’s… a pretty unusual position to find yourself in if you’re used to monogamous romantic relationships, heterosexual or otherwise. People normally expect, when they get into a relationship, to be amongst the very most important people in their partner’s life, if not _the_ most. It’s not vocalised or anything, it’s just a background idea shaped by family, and society, and TV and basically any media you could ever consume in the modern age. And most people conform to that and for most people that’s true and works.

It’s not true and doesn’t work for Clint.

“Clint didn’t drop you for Kate,” is what she ends up saying instead, because she’s really not sure how to approach this any other way.

“Uh, yeah,” James says with a small smile, “he did.”

Natasha laughs. “Well okay, yeah, he did.” She looks him dead in the eye then, because this is the thing she worked out. “But also, no, he didn’t. You were in a good place, a place he could leave you without worrying. And Kate is his best friend.”

James looks at a loss, and suddenly Natasha worries that she’s making this worse by bringing this up now. Maybe James wasn’t worrying about this the way she did and now that she’s brought it up he will. She doesn’t want to suddenly heap something onto him that he wasn’t worried about before. That’s not what this is.

 _She_ worried about this, because it felt a little too close to something Matt used to do – drop her for other people with no explanation – and that worry gnawed at her until she worked out the difference. She wants to save James from that feeling.

Oh God, her brain really had sorted Clint into a ‘relationship’ box years ago. She’s so fucking obtuse.

“Being in a relationship with Clint is, I think, different to being in a relationship with anyone else. Which, if you think about it, is really fucking obvious, both because all relationships are different, but also because Clint is Clint.”

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It’s almost dark now and the wind is picking up.

“But I also think that being in an open relationship with Clint might be different to being in an open relationship with other people. I don’t know. He’s the only person I’ve had an open relationship with.” Matt doesn’t count, because as much as she’d pretended that was an open relationship, it wasn’t. They hadn’t talked about it. It was petty and cruel and used entirely as punishment for a whole myriad of sins, both real and imagined. “I get the impression that normally, open relationships are sexual. It’s the sexual part that’s the ‘open’ part. That’s why people talk about the issue of ‘catching feelings’, because that’s when the dynamic changes. Because there are expectations that go with those feelings.” She shrugs. “Clint doesn’t really get those feelings. With him, you share the sex, but you also share the friendship, because Clint only sleeps with people he considers friends, or that he thinks have the potential to become friends. But at the same time, Clint doesn’t sleep with all his friends. Does that… make sense?”

James nods, then pauses, then shakes his head. Then he pulls a face and shrugs.

Natasha laughs. “Yeah, I think it’s hard to explain, but I just… that’s as close as I can explain it, I think. We’re all friends first, so we’re all equal in his eyes. Sex is a bonus. That make sense?”

James looks out over the fading Manhattan skyline. “Maybe?”

“I’m just saying, he does this sometimes; seem to drop you for someone else.” She shrugs. “I just want you to know that’s not actually what he’s doing. It might save you some worry.”

James gives her an assessing look. She feels like he’s looking straight into her head and seeing every time Matt turned away.

“Have you ever talked to him about this?” he asks after a while.

Natasha shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s really his problem. He’s just being a really good friend. Plus, I’m terrible at explaining it.”

James huffs out a laugh at that.

“It was Kate who worked it out first, unsurprisingly,” she continues after a moment. “Apparently he once dumped some girl he was with in favour of her when she was having a hard time over something. He didn’t get why she was shocked, or why the other girl was low-key pissed about it. But then apparently the girl turned out to be a dick anyway, so Clint probably didn’t think further about it. He probably never has.”

“Maybe you – we – should talk to him about it, then,” James says.

Natasha shrugs. “Maybe,” she says, but she’s not really sure she should. She has a feeling it has far more to do with her own insecurities than it does Clint’s behaviour. Though, maybe that’s reason enough.

“I’m going to let you into a secret,” she says after a moment. It’s something she’s thought about sharing with James before though it felt a little like going behind Clint’s back. Plus, it hadn’t been necessary before, but… Well, now she thinks it might be. She wraps an arm around his shoulders.

James’ face is very close to hers, like this.

“Clint doesn’t know himself half as well as he makes out. And I’d argue that’s true of everything from his sexual orientation to his views on BDSM.” They’re close enough that James can’t hide how his gaze sharpens at that statement. “You just need to approach things the right way.”

James’ mouth works for a moment and then he asks, “What’s his sexual orientation then?” which definitely isn’t the question Natasha knows he actually wants to ask.

He’ll only get the answers for the questions he asks though.

“Well, he’d say he’s bi,” she replies. “But I’d argue for pan and I’d fucking win.”

James looks blank.

“I dunno what that is.”

“Look it up; I think you’ll agree with me. But,” she shrugs, “it’s not my place to say.” She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now c’mon. Let’s pack this shit away so we can have Thai.”

By the time then get inside it’s completely dark, and Clint and America have left to pick up the take-out. Natasha can hear Kate clattering about in Clint’s room, probably trying to find something to wear that isn’t business casual. She can also hear her swearing though, because a couple of weeks ago Clint decided James needed closet space and moved Kate’s stuff so now none of it is where it used to be.

Natasha sees James glance up at the mezzanine and laugh to himself.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “I just can’t get over how little Clint cares about people in his space.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating Kate in Clint’s bedroom. “They share clothes, don’t they?”

“Fair warning, if you leave clothes here, they become Clint’s clothes whether you like it or not.” Natasha grins at the thought of Clint in James’ leather jacket. One look at James’ face is enough to deduce that image had crossed James’ mind as well. “So yeah, of course they do. And then, if they’re Clint’s clothes, I will wear them at some point. I think these leggings were originally Kate’s.”

“Of course they were,” James mutters with a smile, throwing himself down on the couch just as Kate makes her way unsteadily down the stairs in clothes that were definitely hers originally, because neither Clint nor Natasha would buy Lululemon yoga pants (who has that kind of money?) or joke t-shirts saying ‘God Bless America’ on them. Sometimes Natasha really does pity America and her name. It can’t be easy.

“Clint said you’ve got something to celebrate too,” she exclaims, pointing a wavering finger at James before throwing herself down next to him with an over exaggerated but totally sincere look of interest on her face. She’s all loose grace and black hair, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed thanks to the alcohol. She almost topples into James, who looks alarmed at her proximity.

Kate is a handsy drunk. She’s like Clint in that way. Natasha decides to park herself by the breakfast bar to watch this play out.

“Do I?” James says, bemused.

“Something about your friend?”

Kate’s already got her hands on more beer. Half of Natasha wants to take it away from her, but the other half wants to let her celebrate to her heart’s content. She got into the _New York Philharmonic_. That’s definitely worth a head-splitting hangover.

“Oh,” James replies eloquently. “Yeah.”

Kate peers at him with big eyes until he elaborates to her satisfaction.

“He doesn’t hate me for not telling him I’m bi.” More staring. “And in an open relationship with two people.” The staring continues. “And for being in love with him since forever.”

More staring. James stares back.

“That’s great!” Kate suddenly exclaims, like a live feed on a two second delay. “Definitely worth celebrating. My dad practically disowned me when I came out. But fuck him.”

She finishes her beer and wobbles her way over to where Natasha is leaning against the breakfast bar. Natasha provides her with a smile and another beer. Kate is so cute when she’s drunk.

“‘Practically disowned’ you?” James asks as she wobbles her way back to the couch.

“Well, not, like _actually_. He just hasn’t really talked to me properly in like… ten years?”

“Shit.”

“Though that could easily also be due to the fact that I went to the San Francisco Conservatory rather than Juilliard.”

“Wait, you turned down _Juilliard_?”

James is shocked in the way people get when they actually understand what Juilliard is. Also known as: almost the complete opposite to Natasha's reaction, which was a confused ‘Oh?’.

“I went _after_ ,” Kate says, like that’s completely normal. “Dad didn’t _actually_ disown me. Plus I needed to come back to New York so Clint didn’t turn into a crazy person.”

“Eh,” Natasha cuts in with a smile. “Not sure you achieved that.”

“Is Clint coked off his tits?” Kate is pointing somewhere left of where Natasha is actually standing which just makes Natasha smile more. “No, no he is not. So I win. _Also_ , I’m in the New York Philharmonic, so _fuck dad_. I win more.”

“Coked of his tits?” James repeats. He looks at Natasha for clarification and she shakes her head with a smile. Drunk Kate is ridiculous and prone to over exaggeration. It’s very cute and nothing to worry about.

“Well, okay, not _coked off his tits_ but Clint’s Carson’s friends were the worst.” Kate pulls a face. “Most of them. Clint is too loyal.”

“Carson’s?” James echoes. And then, “How can someone be  _too loyal_?”

“Carson’s was the drag club he worked at. It was a fucking circus. Like,  _great_ , but also not the best place for him.” Kate waves her hand vaguely. “Too loyal. Too happy to have found his tribe – well, sorta. Most of the queens were amazing. A couple were the worst though, and they got their claws into him.”

“Bianca hated Kate,” Natasha supplies, as if she were there at the time rather than simply subjected to this rant almost every time the topic of Carson’s came up while Kate was drunk. “She was a bitch.”

“She _was_ a bitch!” Kate exclaims. “A fucking…” she casts around drunkenly for the correct word to adequately express her hatred and eventually just settles on, “ _bitch_.”

James laughs and Kate turns as if she’d forgotten he was next to her.

“You’re very attractive,” she says with the seriousness of the very drunk. “Very…” she attempts to pat James on the face and misses, catching his shoulder instead. She hums but doesn’t move her hand.

Natasha's attempts to smother her laughter result in her shaking against the breakfast bar. James’ _face_.

“She thought we were fucking,” Kate suddenly says, picking up the thread of whatever she was saying about Bianca as if there had been no revelations about James’ attractiveness. “Which, _ew_.” Kate’s exaggerated look of disgust is hilarious, like she cannot conceive of a world where she’d want to sleep with Clint, and now James looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh too. “She’d fucking _start shit_. Say the most fucking horrible things.” Kate finally moves her hand from James’ shoulder, downing half her bottle in one go. “And then they all ended up like that, ‘cause all the good ones left. Topaz and Maybelle and, and Rachael and Carlos the hot bouncer and Jimmy Choo and – ”

She waves her beer bottle to make some point and nearly hits James in the face, before apparently losing track of what she was about to say and just peering owlishly at Natasha, who’s finding it very difficult to breathe properly while also smothering her laughter. She wants to _her this,_ because _God_ , drunk Kate is _the best_.

“You’re hot,” Kate exclaims suddenly, once again pointing a little left of where Natasha actually is.

“Thanks,” Natasha replies, her entire face hurting from smiling so hard.

“I’d sleep with you.” She rounds on James. “ _And_ you.”

“Well,” says James, “thanks as well.”

“They all ended up being partiers,” Kate says forlornly, and the conversational rollercoaster is probably going to give Natasha whiplash at this rate. “And – ”

Here Kate give James possible the most piercing look Natasha has ever seen a very drunk person give another human being.

“You ever had someone who like, you know they could be this version of themselves, but it’s a bad version of themselves and they’re better than that?” She waves her mostly empty beer bottle and Natasha gets the impression that the evening of heavy drinking is finally crashing down on her; that she’s controlled it up to now, but the threshold has been passed and there’s no way back. “Like, you just have to push the right buttons, and your friend will turn into someone you don’t like? They were pushing all the right buttons. So I made Clint come back out here. He helped me with bi stuff, I helped him with friends stuff.”

She looks at James.

“We’re bros,” she says in a very serious tone of voice, just in time for Clint and America to come through with armfuls of take-out. Natasha can see James fighting not to laugh.

“Thai!” Kate exclaims, fully distracted once again. She attempts to get up, trips over _something,_ and only doesn’t faceplant into the coffee table thanks to James’ quick reflexes.

Natasha loses her long fight with laughter and practically _howls_. Kate glares at her from where James is attempting to get her back on the couch. He is, admittedly, laughing at her pretty hard too, but it _was_ funny.

“Okay princess, I’m cutting you off,” America says, dumping her share of the food on the coffee table in favour of helping James with Kate. Kate whines but slumps amenably into the couch and accepts the take-out carton America passes her, half plastered against James side. He seems to have accepted his fate as drunk-Kate’s pillow and is helping himself to green curry, every now and again laughing quietly to himself.

Clint wanders over to stand next to Natasha at the breakfast bar, passing over her prawn tom yam because Clint can always be relied upon to remember take-out preferences.

“Everything okay?” he asks, shovelling noodles into his mouth, his chopsticks quick and deft.

“Bianca,” Natasha says with an attempted gravitas she can’t quite make work because she’s smiling too hard, “is a _bitch_.”

Clint rolls his eyes.

“She’s gonna be on that one when she’s ninety, I fucking swear.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s old as balls, is what it is. She hasn’t seen Bianca in years. Girl can fucking hold a grudge.”

Clint sounds proud.

“Can’t hold her alcohol though.”

Kate is now listing alarmingly into America, who’s chatting with James about her gym, completely unconcerned.

“If she doesn’t throw up in the next half hour, I’ll be surprised,” Clint says conversationally.

“She and America staying on the pull-out?”

“It’ll be easier,” Clint says through a mouthful of noodles. “You mind?”

Natasha snorts into her soup.

“It’s polite to ask,” Clint says defensively.

Natasha pats him on the arm. “No, I don’t mind. And I don’t think James will either, though you should check. Is America okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Clint shrugs. “She says she’ll just watch Netflix on her phone if we wanna leave them down here.”

There’s a sudden flurry of activity as America darts to the downstairs bathroom for a bucket, arriving back just in time to prevent Kate from throwing up on the floor.

“There we are,” Clint says, putting his noodles down to take over from James, who’s currently holding back Kate’s hair. “C’mon, you. That’s enough for one night. Let’s get the pull-out ready for you so you can lie down.”

So, as soon as Kate has stopped _actively_ throwing up, Natasha fetches bedding and America holds Kate, bridal-style, as Clint and James move the coffee table and open the pull-out couch. Then, in the most Clint move Natasha thinks she’s ever seen, he tucks her under the sheets before climbing in to sit beside her and rub her back.

America pulls the armchair around so she can sit close and still in Kate’s line of sight.

“You’re an idiot, chica,” she says softly, gently brushing Kate’s hair away from her eyes.

“An idiot playing in second cellos for the Phil,” Kate mumbles in reply.

America snorts. “That too.”

Kate grumbles some more, but eventually falls silent.

“Pass me my noodles,” Clint demands of James, once it’s clear that Kate isn’t going to throw up again any time soon.

“So we’re just going to watch her sleep?” James says as he hands them over.

“I mean, we could,” Clint says, his mouth once again full of food. “But I thought chatting would be more fun.”

James looks at where Clint is sat on the pull-out, Kate practically asleep at his side. America’s feet are propped up beside Kate’s hip, and Natasha has moved her barstool so she can hook her knees over the arm of the couch. Natasha's pretty aware that they look as if they’ve done this before. They haven’t, not exactly, but it’s familiar. It’s just the kind of thing that happens if you’re Clint’s friend, she’s found.

James shrugs. “Okay,” he says amenably, climbing onto the pull-out to sit cross-legged at Clint’s feet. “Oh and that just reminds me, Pegs and Stevie want to invite you to dinner. Um, Clint and Natasha,” he clarifies when America looks over.

America rolls her eyes. “I didn’t think you meant me, chico.”

James huffs out a little self-deprecating laugh and looks over at Clint, then Natasha. “Yeah, well. Pegs said wherever you’re most comfortable, but you’re probably cool with wherever, so I figure theirs? It’ll make Stevie a little less crazy.”

Natasha can’t help but grin at that. “Sounds great. When?”

James scrunches up his face in thought. “Two weeks? You’re working next weekend, right?” This he directs to Clint, who nods. “Pegs and Steve teach, so weekends are best. Or else, this coming Friday night?”

“Nah, two weeks is great,” Clint replies.

The two of them grin at each other dopily. It makes Natasha's chest ache in the best way.

“I told the girls about James today,” she says into the silence. Because James has something to celebrate and so does Kate and _so does she_. Because Natasha Romanov has two boyfriends and her friends are okay with that.

“Awesome!” Clint grins at her. “Oh hey wait, is that where the whole Stark Industries Date Challenge thing comes from?”

Natasha nods, not even fighting the smile that steals over her face at James’ flush.

“Such a hotass.” Clint blows James a kiss like a dork, which just makes him flush further. “Ooh, and that means I can tell mom when I Skype her tomorrow.”

Some emotion Natasha can’t decipher flashes across James’ face, but it’s gone as soon as it arrives. Instead he just smiles and shakes his head, muttering, “Jesus Christ,” into his curry and sending them both fond looks.

“What?” Clint says, mock indignantly. “My mom is awesome.”

“I’m sure she is.”

America’s snort breaks them out of the little world they’d fallen into, and Natasha can feel an embarrassed flush stain her own cheeks. It feels like it’s been so long since she’s gotten completely wrapped up in someone. Or, heh, some _ones_ , to quote James.

“What?” Clint says with a smile.

“Nothing,” America replies. “I just never thought I’d see the day when the Latina lesbian with two moms was the least weird person in the room.”

“There’s Kate,” Natasha points out.

“Yeah, drunk, rich bisexual Korean-American who just got into the New York Philharmonic.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at America, clearly indicating she should think over what she just said. Apart from the bisexual part, Kate’s pretty fucking unsurprising.

“Okay, so there’s Kate,” America concedes, “but still. Gay Latina with two moms: not the weirdest today.” She smiles. “It’s nice.”

And yeah, Natasha can see how that would be a great feeling, for sure. In fact, everyone in this room can probably relate to that, and not necessarily just because of their sexual orientation or ethnicity. A whole number of things can be isolating: Clint had an extremely abusive childhood, James went to war before he went to college, Kate has literally practiced her cello until her fingers bled. Natasha herself spent her teenage years isolated because of her accent and the fact that most girls don’t develop C cup breasts aged thirteen. Finding your people, who accept you for who you are and make you feel like you’re no longer the weirdest person in the room, is like stepping into sunlight after hours in the dark. She’s _glad_ she can be part of that for America. In fact, she’s glad she can play a part in providing that feeling for _anyone_ and she’s so glad that these people provide that sanctuary for her, because it’s a refuge everyone should have.

She grins back at America, once again feeling so happy she could float away.

And then Kate ruins the mood somewhat by sitting up and being violently sick into the bucket by the couch.


End file.
